


Thumbtack

by spellwing777



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellwing777/pseuds/spellwing777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Answer for the kinkmeme prompt of Laurie getting out from her mom's thumb and being a vet like she always wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Laurie sighed.

"Straighten up, and don't _slouch_." Sniped her mother. "And for gods sakes, try to smile."

She managed not to roll her eyes as her mother fussed obsessively with her hair, primping and preening. Laurie was glad she'd won the battle about curlers years ago, or her hair would be done up in that ridiculous pouf like her mother's, who had no concept that just because they were mother and daughter that didn't mean that they could wear identical hairstyles. Now, if only she could win the battle about her costume, or hell, being a goddamn vigilante in the first place...

Sally plucked ineffectually at said costume, frowning. Her daughter was, sadly, not blessed with her curvaceous figure, instead of having the lean body of a gymnast. It made her costume dangle from her sharp, triangular shoulders like it was still on the hanger. Poor thing actually had to wear a padded bra, although she still had hopes that her genes would win out eventually and give her the set of knockers that would get her movie contracts. Still, she had her own type of beauty, more of dark, smoky look like The Silhouette, but she worried that kind of appeal wasn't what American moviegoers wanted. They usually wanted the classic, buxom diva like her to swoon helplessly over the newest Fred Astaire, not a semantic brunette with far too piercing eyes that would probably punch a man that pinched her bottom instead of giggling charmingly. Feminism had its place, like in parades and bra-burnings. But Hollywood was a man's world, and you had to learn how to appeal to it.

Laurie squirmed out from under her, huffing in exasperation. "Mom, if you fuss anymore with my hair it's gonna frizz."

She sighed, realizing her daughter had a point. "All right, fine. You know I'm just nervous for you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Okay, you go on in. It's almost time."

"You're not gonna come in?"

"No, darling, I'll come back in an hour to pick you up." She smiled wide to hide the sickening feeling quivering in her gut. Eddie was inside, and it was almost like she could feel his presence from out here. "You got to learn how to do some things on your own. Bird's gotta leave the nest sometime, huh?"

She gave her on last go-over, then gave her a fond look. "Break a leg, sweetie."

Laurie nodded, her face that familiar mix of exasperation and fondness, and walked in.

\---

Laurie had never really wanted to be a vigilante, but she was a bit excited about this meeting. Dr. Manhattan was supposed to be here, which was really cool. Hell, it wasn't every day you got to see a living, breathing Superman, and she looked around anxiously. Nelson, or aunty Nell, as she'd mentally nicknamed him-because he fussed like one-greeted her and shook her hand, smiling broadly.

"So nice to have Sally's protégé here."

She smiled, sharp and brittle. _I have a name, you jackass._ "Yeah, my name is Laurie."

Her tone went completely over his head. "Oh, of course, of course." He said airly, paying more attention to his goddamn map than her.

She sighed internally. That was the problem with having a celebrity mom that was pushing you into the same line of work: people saw you as less of a person and more as just an extension of her mother. She covered her annoyance with another bright smile, and let herself be led around by the arm for introductions. _Keep it together Laurie._

First, Ozymandias. He immediately got the nickname 'Ozy', only because it was shorter to say than 'glitter queen'. She had a hard time not looking at the package outlined in gold spandex, a neat little bundle so at least he was wearing a cup, Jesus. In a few decades, David Bowie will make his infamous movie where he prances around on screen in grey tights, and she'll have a flash of deja-vu, but right now she flicks her eyes away and tries not to linger on it. She focuses on his sparkly little tiara instead, and other than feeling a little flash of jealousy at how pretty it is, she also wonders if he realizes just how much of a gay vibe he's putting out. Maybe he does and that's the point...? She wonders if he also realizes just how ridiculous his costume is. That purple is okay, but the gold is too damn shiny. How the hell he isn't riddled with bullets is beyond her. How the hell he can lounge there like he's wearing the latest fashion out of vogue instead of a fucking _gold spandex_ is also beyond her, but whatever. _You go girl_.

"Pleased to meet you, Laurie." He said, flashing her a million-watt smile. He had a politician's handshake, and she immediately pictured him cutting ribbons and kissin' babies. She had a sneaking suspicion she wasn't the only one here trying to further her career, and that he was using his cred as a vigilante to get the public to love him.

Next up to bat was Nite Owl. Hollis was a great guy and the only steady father figure she'd ever had, and he spoke highly of his protégée, so she was a definitely interested in meeting him. As it turned out, Nite Owl junior was a near carbon-copy of his predecessor, if a little taller and broader. Probably a brunette going by his skin and eye color, and wore glasses because he kept touching the bridge of his nose, a nervous tic. She could bet he was really cute under that getup, although he was a dorky kinda guy, really sweet, with a wholesome boy scout kind of shtick. He greeted her like an adult and gave her hand a firm shake along with a lopsided smile, and she immediately approved of Hollis' choice. Perfect guy to carry on the Nite Owl name. She wanted to keep talking to him, but she was whisked away and he said diddly-squat to her for the rest of the night.

The third was Rorschach. All she knew of him was from the papers, and she knew that the news could only be trusted as far as you could throw it, so she took their ranting in with a grain of salt. Apparently, he was supposed to be an underworld boogyman that really cracked down on crime. And they meant that literally; some people had been sent to the hospital with cracked jaws, broken bones, and dislocated fingers. However, at the meeting, the guy wasn't nearly as tall as the tales told about him and she had a feeling that most of his intimidation factor came from that mask of his. She bet it's shifting black and white would be as creepy as fuck appearing out of nowhere in the dark shadows of the city, faceless and featureless. Under the bright fluorescents of the Crimebuster's meeting space, it looked a little washed out and drab, like the rest of his costume. He was wearing just...regular clothes. They were out of date, like a 1940's detective, but a hell of a lot more ordinary than everybody else's flashy spandex. The only interesting thing was that mask, which was kinda cool. She actually had to force herself not to get lost in it's hypnotizing shift, and focus on what he was saying.

"Hnn. Silk Specter's protégée." He growled, and he sounded like he had a pack-a-day-habit.

"Call me Laurie."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Laurel."

The phrase and ensuing handshake were formal like the guy was following a script he'd read from a 'big book of manners' written in the 20's or something. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nite Owl give him a fondly amused look, and she tried not to laugh.

Lastly, she was introduced to The Comedian. She'd heard a little about the guy, like how he was a veteran and supposedly a red-blooded-all-American hero. However, Uncle Hollis had never been very fond of him. He hardly ever talked about the guy, and when he did it was with this harsh, bitter tone, and she'd gotten the impression he wasn't a very nice person. The way he stank of cigars and cheap booze wasn't helping, nor was the tension in Nelson's frame. His face was obscured by his phalanx of rustling newspaper, and they approached cautiously.

"Ah, hello Comedian. I'd like you to meet the newest Silk Specter." Nelson said, tentatively.

The paper rustled, and he finally deigned to put it down. She had to cover her shock at the huge, curving scar on his face, twisting over half of his face. He looked her up, down, and sideways.

"Well, well, Sal's girl. Nice costume, looks jus' like hers." He paused. "Glad she didn't stick you in the fishnets and garter, though."

She smirked. She'd absolutely _refused_ to wear it, and that had been one of the few uphill battles she'd won. "More my choice, really."

He smirked back. "This whole vigilante thing your choice too?"

She blinked. _Wow man, straight to the point..._ Thrown for a loop, her answer was awkward, to say the least. "Well, uh...it's what I've trained for the last couple of years. Be a shame not to use those skills."

She threw him her best winning smile to try to salvage it, but she could see from the way his eyes narrowed slightly that it hadn't succeeded. He kept up that lopsided smile though, for appearance's sake, and moved on.

"You lookin' forward to the meeting today kid?"

"Well, yeah. Dr. Manhattan's supposed to come, and I always wanted to see him."

He got an amused look on his face, and she felt like she'd missed the punch line to a joke. "Is that right?"*

Like they'd summoned him-or Dr. Manhattan had a sense for theatrics and good timing-a blue flash appeared. Instead of the demigod they were all expecting, a lady in a blue dress and pearls appeared. Nelson practically tripped over himself going to greet her, and she was gracious despite him being obviously upset after she told him that Dr. Manhattan wasn't coming.

"But, he said he would like to attend-"

"I'm sorry, but Nixon said that he needed his assistance. Normally he just makes a duplicate of himself, but the man said it wasn't 'secure' or some nonsense." She gave him a gently sympathetic look. "I really am sorry Nelson."

He struggled to smile, and muttered something apologetic, before going back to his map to sigh and wring his hands. Ozy went over to him, and they huddled together in their own little pity party, Ozy trying to console him and do damage control while Nelson sighed. She still thought this whole meeting thing was silly-and downright stupid now that she wasn't even going to get to see the Doc-but she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for him. Behind him, The Comedian chuckled, an ugly noise, and she looked at him with a slightly disgusted expression. He shut up almost immediately with a strange, almost embarrassed look on his face, and hid behind his newspaper again.*

The meeting was...unenthusiastic, to say the least. The Comedian ignored them, staying behind his newspaper, only poking his head out once to sneer, but retreated back behind it as soon as she looked at him. Golden boy up at the front tried his best and so Did the Capt., but between him and Dr. Manhattan's absence, it the performance put on was kinda lackluster. It all fell apart when they started to actually ask questions, and not questions on how they would work together, but questions on what they would work _on_. Nite Owl was the one to ask it, all ready and eager to take advantage of extra hands. She'd heard he'd been partners with shorty for a year or so, and he looked like the team player type.

"So, we have this kidnapping ring going on. They take kids from orphanages, low-income homes, that kind of thing, and then sell them on the black market to pimps. It's a huge ring so it would be great if we had some extra hands on board." Nite Owl said, all bright eagerness.

"That is an excellent mission, but I believe we should focus on matters more suited to our organization," Ozy said, with his smooth, salesman-like voice. "Underage sex-trafficking is a bit too...graphic. Perhaps something with more appeal to the general population?"

Nite Owl's mouth opened and closed on empty air, too shocked to reply. He regained enough motor control to reel in his partner when the guy snarled and made a moved like he was going to punch Ozzy right in his plastic smile. She could sympathize. What kind of shallow asshole said kids weren't worth saving because they wouldn't get airtime for it?

Before anyone could say a single damn thing, The Comedian beat them to it with a dark, ironic chuckle. "Oh, this is _rich_."

He stood, disregarding his paper. "You know the sayin' 'history repeats itself'? Well, it's doing that right now. Minutemen didn't wanna get dirty either, 'cept for Silhouette and Hollis. And now, you all chasing the limelight too, nothing more than a publicity stunt."

Ozzy frowned. "I never said they couldn't pursue this on their own. But as a group, we should start with something different, something that would better establish our name with the American populace. People were already beginning to be dissatisfied with vigilantes at the end of the Minutemen era, I'm hoping we can improve the relations we have with the American public-"

"Stuff it Ozzer." He cut in, approaching the front. "You ever think the public doesn't like us because most of us are shallow glory seekers? Hell, I know I'm just here for the violence, but at least I don't kid myself about it. You? You got the balls to say your here to help defend the public, but not enough balls to get blood on those glitzy pants."

The click of his lighter was loud in the silence. Nelson made a despairing noise as the map he'd carefully constructed caught on fire. "My map..."

The Comedian ignored him and turned to address the rest of the room. "Not that it's gonna matter in a-"

His eyes fell on her, and he got that weird look again, before quickly recovering. "Whatever kids. You go ahead and play dress up. Aint gonna make anything better to blindly do what the people before you did."

He looked right at her for the last bit, and she had a feeling that he _knew_ all that she'd left unsaid. Then he left, breezing out with only his words and the crackle of the map echoing in the silence.

The silence was broken by Nelson slapping out the flames and then whimpering over the wreck. Both Nite Owl and Ozzy went to console him, and Laurie left before the awkward feeling in the room could get too oppressive. Mom wouldn't be back for at least a half hour, so she was left to twiddle her thumbs on the steps while she waited. Before long, she was joined by one of the other guys; the one with the lava lamp for a face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I'd think it was funny too if you've already met the Dr. After experiencing the way he unsettles your sense of reality, it's kinda hard _not_ to laugh at people who actually want to meet him.
> 
> *It's cute that your trying to make a good impression on your daughter, but really Eddie, she'll figure out that you are pretty fucked up sooner or later.


	2. Chapter 2

"You had to get out of there too, huh?"

He grunted a yes. Apparently, he wasn't very talkative. Well, too bad, because she was going to be sitting here for a while, and she was going to talk _at_ him if he was just going to be silent.

"Your partner still in there trying to help Nelson?"

He nodded.

"I kinda feel sorry for him. He wanted to relive his glory days, and it all blew up in his face."

No comment. She swore she could hear crickets.

"Well, that was a disaster." She sighed. "And I don't mean the map-burning."

He tilted his head towards her, considering. "...You mean the hypocrisy."

Okay, he kind of sounded angry about it too. "Yeah, that."

"It's disappointing." He growled. "Thought it might have been a bit unwieldy, with so many people, but I had some positive experiences working with Nite Owl, so I thought it might be worth a try. Now it turns out to be nothing more than publicity grab. Disgusting. Not here to earn the adoration of the masses, here to do a _job_."

"Preach, brother." She laughed, only partly joking. She sighed, and laid back. Their wasn't really much else to say to that, especially considering just how ironic it was that she was only here for just that: publicity. She never got to actually do anything meaningful on patrol. In just a half hour mom would come pick her up and after that she _might_ get to actually patrol, if Nelson was feeling up to babysitting her. In the meantime, she had to sit here in silence and wait.

"God, I'm bored." She muttered. "I gotta wait for Nelson, since mom wont let me patrol by myself. And _if_ I get out there, I'll be stuck with Nelson and never see any action anyway. Maybe I should just head out and crack some heads on my own."

"Most nights will be like that." He said. "You haven't been patrolling for long. You have yet to experience the days of boredom that happens between nights of real combat."

He paused. "Also, you haven't been patrolling long enough to patrol alone. Should patrol with Captain Metropolis."

She sighed, and just barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. "Kinda hypocritical coming from you, considering you patrolled alone from the beginning. You just partnered up with Nite Owl what, a year ago? And hasn't _every_ vigilante started alone?"

"Yes." He said. "They have. Doesn't mean everyone should patrol alone at first. Had I gotten the opportunity to patrol with someone from the minutemen when I started out, I would have taken the opportunity. Would have been easier. Made less mistakes."

"Fine, you've got a point there, but aunty Nell and my mom wont let me _do_ anything. How the hell am I supposed to learn when the only people I'm allowed to take down is people that where paid to let me win and make me look good in the paper?"

That mask made it kinda hard to read him, but his stance and tone of voice sounded surprised. "Your achievements...are staged?"

"Ding, ding, a prize for you. What, you thought my Mom would actually let me accomplish anything meaningful when I've got a career in the movies to pursue? I cant risk actually getting into a fight, it might ruin my good looks, which is all that any director is interested in." She said, her voice thick with sarcasm and frustration. "She's doing the same thing with me that she did herself back in the day. Get notoriety by being a vigilante beating up guys in a slutty costume. Get acting contracts. Profit."

He made a small, disgusted noise. "And put her daughter in the same harlot costume, I see."

She felt like she should be offended, but really it was true. She grimaced, plucking at her own gaudy costume. "I never asked to be a goddamn vigilante; and it's pretty much just to get into Hollywood. But, god, couldn't I look a little better doing it?"

She looked him over. "I like yours, it looks like you stepped out of a detective novel. At least it isn't gaudy gold spandex like Ozy's."

"Don't have the legs for it."

She laughed, and he looked her over again, his pose thoughtful.

"Don't like the idea of you being forced into this for notoriety." He said quietly. "The only reason a person should have for being a vigilante is out of a sense of duty. Cheapens it when it's for such shallow reasons."

"Yeah. Gotta agree with you there." She sighed. "Vigilantism isn't my thing, but I respect what your doing. That ring with the kids...Jesus. I'm glad you two are on it."

"Thank you." He said, very quietly.

She gave him a sympathetic look. He'd been in the business for the longest of all the new generation of masks, but she could bet this was bothering him. Hell, it was bothering her. She'd never been all that interested in being a vigilante, but you'd have to be heartless and a coward not to want to kick the asses of the guys that were doing this.

"You want some help?"

"Hnn?" He must've been lost in thought, and she smiled at him.

"I know I not a 'real' vigilante, but I'd like to help you with this case. These guys could use all the asskicking they can get, and an extra pair of boots cant hurt." She stood, dusting herself off. "Besides, if I have to patrol with someone, I'd rather it be with someone who'll let me do something meaningful."

He considered it. "Not sure if breaking up an underage prostitution ring will do your image any good. Directors might not like what they see on your resume."

"Want to know a secret?" She said, grinning fiercely. " _I don't care._ I never wanted to be an actress. You want to know what I actually want to be?"

"What?"

"A vet." She chuckled. "Kind of ironic, when most girls my age want to be on the big screen."

He shrugged. "Suppose it's better than the usual vapid dreams of teenagers." He paused. "Still not sure if you should accompany us. It's...a very difficult case. Dangerous."

"I've been training since I was five. Pretty much any and all self-defense course you can take, plus a few extra I did on the side for fun that my mom doesn't know about." She grinned. "I'm covered when it comes to fighting."

"Didn't mean just that." He said. "Meant that it's...as Ozymandias put it, 'graphic'."

"Oh." Fuck, he had a point. Still though, the idea of those kids being abused..."Yeah, it's not going to be pleasant, but I want to help those kids out okay? The idea of them lock up someplace, scared...it just..."

She trailed off, and Rorschach let the silence creep in and stretch for nearly a minute. His mask was really frustrating her now, because she couldn't get a single clue about his thoughts from his face. Finally, he spoke.

He paused. "...Should ask Nite Owl as well."

Well, that was a very roundabout way of saying 'yes', but she'll take it.

They both turned at the sound of the door opening, and the other three stepped out, Nite Owl going first, Ozy and Capt. following up, locked in their own hushed conversation. Nite Owl made his way over, while the other two remained just outside the building, talking.

Nite Owl smiled at the both of them as he walked up. "Been keeping each other company out here?" Then to Rorschach; "Sorry it took so long buddy."

 _'Buddy'? What a cornball._ Laurie tried not to laugh.

Rorschach shrugged. "Didn't notice. Have a question for you."

Nite Owl cocked his head in interest, a very...birdlike gesture, one that she wasn't sure if he was doing on purpose in keeping with the whole bird theme, or he did that all on his own.

"Silk Specter would like to accompany us. Eager to assist." He said, in that bizarre, clipped way of his. "Room for one more in the owlship?"

 _'Owlship'?_ Was that the name of his car? If so, that...was a level of cheese that defied description. There was sticking to a theme and then there was _sticking to a theme_.

Nite Owl looked her over, his brow furrowing. "Are you _sure_? I mean, it's not..."

"I know it's not going to be glamorous in any way, shape, or form." She said. "I still want to help."

Nite Owl didn't seem reassured, and looked at Rorschach. They had this silent little confab, and somehow reached a consensus despite neither of them saying anything and one of them wearing a latex bag over his head that betrayed no expression. Nite Owl nodded and she was...kind of surprised. She'd expected them to treat her like a kid mascot or something and say no, both of them really, but she must have said something right to Rorschach and Nite Owl trusted him enough to go along with it. She was simultaneously impressed with herself and also wondering what the _hell_ was it that she'd said right.

Nite Owl turned towards her. “Okay, but you should tell your mom first that you’re going with us. I don’t want her wondering where you are.”

She kept her face straight, but she grimaced internally. This was going to take a lot of convincing. “She’s supposed to be here soon to see how the meeting went. I’ll let her know.”

Nite Owl nodded. “All right, that’s fine. We have to get going, since we’ve got an informant to meet, but here’s a number you can get in touch with us when you can join us.”

\---

*Sal tried her best, but she could still feel the fear scrabbling up her throat, leaving her shivering and clinging to the steering wheel. It didn’t really make sense that she was having this _now_. She forgiven him. She thought she’d let it go. Hell, she’d _slept_ with him. Consensually. It wasn’t _really_ that, not…entirely. It’s just…he’d asked her afterwards if maybe she might want more than just a nice roll in the hay, in that joking way of his and…he’d gotten angry, when she hadn’t immediately given him a firm yes or no. His face had gotten that same expression on it when she scratched his face and pushed him away when he’d hadn’t been able to take her ‘no’ as an answer. He’d glared, and she felt like a rabbit frozen with fear, and suddenly his face had broken into a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. He’d left then, tossing a cheesy line back at her, and she’d avoided him whenever he’d tried to get in contact with her again.

Maybe she’d overreacted. Maybe he really had changed. But that look in his eyes gave her a gut feeling that he hadn’t.

She caught her daughter making her way towards the car out of the corner of her eye, and she stilled and put on her best, brittle smile. She rolled down the window.

“So, how’d it go?”

Laurie did that characteristic little pause-the one where she was wondering if she could lie or not-and she arched an eyebrow. She sighed. “Uh, not so great.”

Sally frowned, concerned. “C’mere honey, and tell me what happened.”

She listened to the whole, sordid tale, and sighed. “I’m sorry it went bad, sweetie. That man’s always had a bit of an…anger problem.”

“…Yeah.” Laurie said slowly, staring out the window with a contemplative look on her face.

Sally frowned. “What is it honey?”

Laurie looked at her, confusion in her eyes. “You know, he was right about it though. It _is_ kinda fucked up.”

“Language.” Sally said automatically. “And sure, nobody likes kids getting hurt, but baby, that’s showbiz. You gotta pick and choose things that get-”

“This isn’t fucking showbiz mom!” Laurie said angrily. “These are real lives and-“

“-And the American public is shallow. They don’t like things that make them uncomfortable, it makes them change the channel.”

“Who _cares_ if they change the channel or not, this is more important than getting ratings on the tv!” 

“Of course it is sweetie, I never said it wasn’t,” Sal sighed, “But it’s the American public that lets us operate. Before we got signed into law, any evidence we ever got on people was thrown out and couldn’t be used in court ‘cause it was gathered without a warrant. We _need_ the public to back us, because one stroke of the politicians pen and we could be illegal again and every criminal caught could walk free on a technicality.”

Laurie went silent, digesting this. “So…that’s the reason Ozy was putting this together and picking what would have the most appeal?”

“Yes.” She said, and sighed. “I’m not saying those boys shouldn’t go after those sickos, but Ozymandias is just trying to get the public’s support with something that has a bit more appeal. Public interest in us has kinda gone downhill since the last group.”

Laurie was silent for a while. “How are you so sure that the public doesn’t want to see us rescuing kids from prostitute rings rather than cheesy shit like catching people that robbed a jewelry store?”

“Oh sweetie, everyone likes tragedy on the screen,” Sal laughed, “So long as it isn’t real.”

Laurie made a disgusted noise, then sighed in resignation. Her mom had a point, really. She couldn’t count the times she’d switched the channel whenever one of those ‘starving African children, donate now’ commercials came on. As much as it pained her to admit, mister glitter queen Ozymandias was just trying to do his damndest to get the support of American public.

“What I don’t get,” She said, annoyed, “Is why we can’t help out on the side? So, fine, don’t publicize this, but we can at least still _do_ something.”

She snorted. “Oh please. I’ve drug you to enough Hollywood events and Political parties that you should know the type. He’s just a businessman that’s found a new way to promote himself. Just you see, he’ll nab a few criminals, make a big show, and then retire and unmask himself publicly to reap the bounty.” Sally twisted the radio dial until Fred Astaire’s crooning filled the car. “He doesn’t give a shit about actually helping people. It’s all business for him.”

“Ugh. That’s so _shallow_.” Then, of course, she remembered just how fucking hypocritical she was and grimaced. “…Not that I’m much better.”

Sal gave the kid’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hon, at least you care. It’s more than I can say about most people.”

“I’d still like to do something though.” She paused. “Mom…if I said Nite Owl and Rorschach were okay with it, could I go with them to help out?”

Sally frowned. “I don’t know honey...”

“It’s just, I want to do _something_ , Jesus; and everyone else is too chickenshit to help.” Laurie gave her a pleading look. “Mom, I know I give you shit for all lot of things, but this is a bit more serious than letting me go to prom.”

She sighed, and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. She’d had to drag her kid into this vigilante business kicking and screaming, and she could swear that it had given her a few white hairs. But…maybe if she felt she was actually accomplishing something…

“…All right kid.” She said, grudgingly. “But if it gets too heavy, I want you to bail. This is the kind of stuff that could give you nightmares for life, and it isn’t worth risking your sanity over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *It always confused my why Sally is starts crying in the car and reacts so badly to Eddy talking it up with Laurie. I mean, I know the guy tried to rape her once, but she supposedly forgave him for it _and_ hooked up with him later. Something else must have happened that it didn’t work out.


	3. Chapter 3

She left a message on Nite Owl’s line, the only good thing to come out of Nelly’s failed attempt at making the ‘crimebusters’ (she wondered if he’d come up with that cheesy name himself, or if glitter queen Ozy helped). It was a message box that only fellow vigilantes had the number too, and about the only way for anyone to get in contact with each other, seeing as how part of _being_ a vigilante relied on anonymity, so it kinda discounted giving out your home phone. She had no idea how Ozy had set it up, but it was like calling a phone…sort of. It worked, so she didn’t really care about the mechanics of it. He’d gotten back with her, telling her when and where they could meet, easy as pie. Next time she saw Ozy she’d have to thank him, it was easier than walking all over creation looking for them.

Standing on the top of an abandoned tenement building that was their meeting spot, she could see the territory that had been ‘claimed’ by the two. They didn’t actually have set turfs, it’s not like they weren’t perfectly able to roam the whole city as they pleased, but everyone had a set chunk they considered ‘theirs’. The Comedian liked the docks, Capt. Metropolis’ was Brooklyn, Ozy sort of roamed around queens, and these two preferred the east side and hell’s kitchen area. She didn’t really have a territory of her own, but that’s because she’d been shackled to Uncle Nelly and could only go as far as his leash would let her.

A little turn towards her left and she could see most of hell’s kitchen, the ‘birthplace’ of Rorschach, where he started out back in 19…64? Well, as far as she knew. He’d started showing up here and had pretty much stayed there for his first year, until he joined up with Nite Owl. It was a rough neighborhood that lived up to its name, even now, and back then it was even more of a blasted-out ghetto.

_‘Rough place to cut your teeth on, Inky.’_ She surveyed it, seeing crumbling building and hearing the strains of a nasty argument in a building just next to her. She’d come early because she was half sure she’d get into a fight on the way over, and she almost did, rough characters following her, shouting out slurs and leering. One of them had even rushed her, but a vicious kick to the balls had left him vomiting all over the sidewalk and the others scattering. She’d gone the rest of the way unmolested, feeling smug.

A turn to her right had her facing the east side, where Nite Owl junior had started up. It was a little better than Hell’s Kitchen, some middle-class neighborhoods tucked in some spots. He’d gone solo for just a brief while, maybe a few months, and she could still remember reading his exploits in the papers, the few scant interviews with him having an _unbearable_ amount of cheese. He’d actually used phrases like ‘dastardly villains’, like he was repeating the lines out of a comic book. He’d cut back on the trite phrases after partnering up with Rory, thank god. He’d stated about a year after Rory, so he was technically ‘younger’ than his partner, at least when it came to crime fighting terms. For all she knew he and Rory could be the same age, she had a feeling that growly pack-a-day voice was a front.

Nite Owl had a much bigger range than his partner though, even in the beginning. He’d roamed all _over_ the place, though he’d was mostly spotted around here. The only place he hadn’t been spotted was on Rory’s turf, at least until they’d paired up. She wondered if they’d had a tiff or what; Inky seemed like the territorial type.

She tapped her heel as she waited, mulling over what she knew of the two. All she’d learned of the two was from newspapers and Hollis, whose info was a little one sided. He had plenty of info about his protégé, of course, but he didn’t have much on Rorschach. She’d researched as much as she could before coming in, because if she was gonna fight side-by-side with these guys, she should know what she was getting into at least. She’d chatted with him yesterday over beers and lemonade, while he’d worked on one of his many old cars.

\---

As usual, ol’ Hollis was neck deep under the hood of an old car, this time a really classic convertible. He mostly did restore work on historic cars these days, ever since everything had gone electric. Some of the rarer combustion vehicles were considered hot collectables now, and since he was one of the few people that specialized in old engines, he was ‘the man’ to see. So, he spent his days working on rare, expensive cars for rich car enthusiasts. If a car lover could have a dream job, this was it, and the guy was happy as a clam. She liked to visit often, because he radiated contentment like heating fan, and she could absorb his good mood through osmosis just standing in the shop helping out. He also was a fountain of good advice, and let her bend his ear with her issues with her mom. He was more of a dad to her then any of mom’s previous husbands or boyfriends ever were, and he’d said that she was the daughter he’d never had, which made her chest squeeze with affection whenever he said it.

She bounced in, and he extricated himself so she could give him an enthusiastic hug and let him lift her off the floor and twirl her around like she was still a little girl. This was something she’d never grown out of or ever felt the need too, even if he couldn’t lift her as high as he used too and she’d traded in her princess dresses for spandex and gauze. He grinned at her, his hair mussed and his cheek streaked with grease, then let her go.

“So pumpkin,” He said, “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I went to the Crimebusters meeting, just wanted to stop by and give you a recap.”

“Sure, let’s go inside and we’ll talk. Lemonade?”

“Yeah, I’m parched.”

The inside of the house was slightly cooler, ceiling fans making a slight breeze. Spring had finally turned into summer, the days heating up into the seventies. Soon, ninety degree days would come sweeping down, paralyzing everything in its humid grip. She was lucky then, that her costume looked like stripper getup, at least she wouldn’t die of heatstroke like the other heroes in their leather and capes. She wasn’t in her aerated costume now, though, and appreciated the cold drink. She sipped contentedly as Hollis comfortably settled in with his cold beer, sighing as he took a long swig.

“Good thing you stopped by.” He said. “I’d just about forgotten that I needed a break.”

“Happy to help.” She snagged a candy out of the dish on the coffee table. “Those billionaires working you too hard?”

“Eh, so-so. Mostly myself working myself too hard. It’s just so easy to get caught up. But, you came over to chat about the Crimebusters.” He took another swig. “So, sweetie, how’d the meeting go?”

She sighed, and decided to cut to the point. “Well…it was a debacle.”

Hollis pulled a face. “Really? How so?”

She sighed, and told him the whole sob story. “The thing that kills me is that I kinda agree with him. I mean, who doesn’t want to help kids just because it can’t air on tv?”

Hollis sighed. “I’ve never made it a secret I didn’t like the guy. He’s…well, you saw.”

“Yeah, a drinking problem _and_ he likes to light things on fire, Jesus. But the whole thing-”

“I know, sweetie, I know. If he has one thing going for him, he does tell it like it is. It’s part of his whole need to get under people’s skin.” He rubbed his face and sighed. “Look, he…he was right, partially. About the case with the children, and…yes, our generation had some issues too. I and the Silhouette did our best. But, compared to the things he did…well, kettle, pot.”

“You know, you keep saying that.” She said, quietly. “What…what _did_ he do? I know you put it in your book, but mom says she won’t let me read it even when it does come out.”

Hollis gave her a sad little look. “She gave me permission to write it kiddo, but she doesn’t want you to read it until you’re a little older. I’ll have to defer to her.”

She huffed. “Dressed up in a little black swimsuit and gauze, and sent out to duke it out with New York’s worst, and your sheltering me from this? What’d he do, war crimes?”

“That too. But this one’s personal, kid.” He said gently. “And whining to me won’t change it. You’ll just have to wait on your mother.”

She sighed, and let it go. He was a pushover for most things ‘cause he was so fond of her, but this was one of the few things he was resolute on. She moved on to her next subject.

“Anyway,” She said “I asked Rorschach and Nite Owl if I could help, and they said yes. I mean, it took a little convincing but…well, I guess they needed the help.”

Hollis cocked an eyebrow. “Well, good on you that you want to help out but…are you _sure?_ …”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I know it’s not gonna be glamorous and it's probably going to be…pretty heavy, but I can’t _not_ help out.”

“Well, alright kid.” He said. It was grudging, but at least he wasn’t arguing the point. “You feel free to come talk to me if it gets too much.”

She nodded, popping a candy in her mouth. “Thanks. I was actually wondering if you could help me out with something?”

“Anything pumpkin.”

She smiled at him, fond of his ‘pet’ name for her. “I actually would like to know more about the guys I’m gonna work with. Got any information I need to know?”

Hollis scratched his chin thoughtfully, blunt fingernails rasping on stubble. “Hmmm, well. The kid that that took up my role is a good guy, real boy scout type.”

She laughed. “Oh god, yes. He’s so much like you, carbon copy practically.”

He chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. He’s a bit more, hm, naïve? I guess it’s because he didn’t have the benefit of the experience that I had as a cop on the beat.”

She cocked her head. “What, really?”

“Yes. I mean, it’s one thing to believe that the vast majority of people are good at heart, it’s another to listen to the sob story of a junkie and believe it instead of taking it with a grain of salt.” He sighed. “That’s the thing sweetie, I had the benefit of training from the police force and the advice of other cops that had been in for a while when I first started out. He doesn’t. It’s why I told him he should consider partnering up with Rorschach.”

She blinked. “Wait, you actually told him to partner up?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I met him once before.* Good kid, if a bit skittish and not really good with people. Born and bred cynic though, really not in it for the whole ‘helping people’ angle. More of the ‘justice must be served’ angle, which is never a good thing in a cop. That’s how you get bad cops; cops that go a little too far in the name of justice. Same thing for vigilantes.”

“However, he’s the perfect foil for Nite Owl’s naivety, and his idealism tempers Rorschach’s hardline view on the world. They are the classic good cop/bad cop combo, good alone but perfect together.” He smiled a little smugly. “Best thing I ever did really, pairing those two up.”

Laurie chuckled, then adopted a thoughtful look. “Sounds like the perfect duo, but you think a trio will work?”

He gave her an equally thoughtful look. “Well kid, I don’t know. I think so, but I’m a bit biased when it comes to you. My boy is a bit of a modern-day knight, you’ll have to make it _clear_ that you're no helpless damsel or he’ll spend too much time trying to protect you and get killed himself. The other one…I’m not sure. Think he’s a bit of a chauvinist, with the way Nite Owl says he goes on about how indecent woman are today, but since he was the one to agree first…can’t say. I don’t get to talk to him much, he’s really skittish, like I said. Only talks to Nite Owl, really.”

She blinked. She didn’t remember him being all that shy at the meeting, just oddly formal. “What do you mean ‘skittish’?”

He sighed. “Well…I guess ‘reserved’ is a better word, really. He keeps all of his personal information close to his chest. I still don’t know his Identity, and neither does his partner.”

Her eyes widened. “Haven’t they, you know, been shacked up for a year?”

“Just about.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m sure he knows that we’d never give his identity away to the tabloids, but he worries about some bastard getting ahold of us and torturing it out of us.”

She frowned. “I guess I’d have to agree. My trainer says people will say anything under enough stress.”

“Not sure that’s it, really.” He paused. “Not sure what it is, but my intuition says somethin’ else.”

“Like _what_?”

“Dunno kid, just a hunch.” He shrugged. “You want another lemonade?”

“Sure, thanks.”

The rest of the afternoon devolved into another garage session, her and Hollis working on the classic orders. She handed tools and snaked her smaller hands into tight spots, saving him the trouble of taking the whole thing apart just to reach it. While she worked, she mulled it over and tried her best to prepare herself for the night to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Read a fic where Rorschach happened to meet Hollis out walking, saving him from some punks, after which Hollis decided to introduce him to Nite Owl in hopes they'd partner up. If anyone can point me to it, I'd appreciate it.


	4. Chapter 4

Of course, all the preparation in the _world_ wouldn’t have gotten her ready for this.

It swooped down in front of her in a roar of jet engines and wind, only her good training and sense keeping her from bolting like a startled deer. She still went into a battle-ready crouch out of pure instinct, although her (admittedly decent) right hook wouldn’t do diddly squat to this bronze monster. She watched it warily as it hovered only feet from the edge of the roof, shimmering and ethereal, like something you’d see after reading Jules Verne and dropping acid.

Presently, a door opened, letting out a glare of yellow light and settling a neat pair of steps primly on the edge. It took her a second to let her eyes adjust to the harsh light, but only a second, and now she could pick out the silhouette of a trench and fedora. The harsh backlighting eliminated any details and the ship’s ovoid shape made him look like an alien standing in the doorway of his UFO, but him tipping his hat all gentlemanly at her broke that illusion. She grinned and hopped up the steps.

“Welcome aboard!” Nite Owl said, with _almost_ too much cheese, but she was too busy being awestruck to begrudge him for it. It was beautiful, all brushed steel and gleaming with newness. It even _smelled_ new, a bit like ‘new car’ and the metallic tang of aluminum shavings that Uncle Hollis’ shop had whenever he had to make some parts on the lathe. She wishes she could see what was under the hood too, see the complexity of the engine and watch it work. She’d never have the level of enthusiasm that he had for cars, but after being raised around them she was pretty fond of them herself.

Looking back at them, she had to say they looked quite a bit better in their natural environment. Nite Owl looked every bit the ‘noble defender of the citizenry’ (quoth the newspapers) at the head of his machine, the lights glinting off his goggles. Rorschach didn’t quite look like he belonged here, under the bright fluorescents-he was obviously better suited to back alleys-but at least he seemed much more relaxed in familiar settings, a sort of rigid tension in the set of his shoulders gone.

She couldn’t help but grin at them, subconsciously posing at front. “My, my. Don’t you two look like the perfect pair. New York’s crime fighting duo, ready to step out and rain hell on the bad guys.”

Nite Owl grinned, and patted the control’s fondly. “With some help from this guy.”

“Wait-“ She turned to him. “ _This_ is the owlship you guys were talking about?”

He coughed, looking a little embarrassed. “Uh, his name is Archimedes, actually. I named him after Merlin’s owl.”

_Wow, nerdy much?_

“I built it myself. It took me two years, but he’s fully functional.” He said, showing her around with barely contained glee. “It’s completely invisible to radar due to the design. It has noise projector for crowd control, tear gas, flamethrower, fog machine, air-to-air missiles-”

“Wait, this thing has _rockets?_ ” _Okay, never mind. He can call it whatever he wants. Ain't nobody gonna laugh at it when it can level an entire block._

“Well, not really rockets. Missiles. It’s for self-defense if I ever got attacked in the air, since I couldn’t fit machine guns.”

She was staring at him with a concerned look, but he was too wrapped up in his-admittedly gorgeous-flying death machine to notice. She looked over at Rorschach, and he just shrugged in a helpless sort of way, like he sort-of agreed with her assessment of just how questionable it was that he had basically a military jet fighter with all sorts of highly destructive goodies; before coming over to interrupt.

“Nite Owl, should be on our way. Have a trafficking ring to bust.”

“Oh! Right, sorry. I got a little carried away.” He hopped on the controls, and with only a slight lurch they were on their way.

She followed Rorschach towards the back, where he attempted to get a cup of coffee. ‘Attempted’ was the word, because the coffee machine Nite Owl had installed-yes, a coffee machine, he really did think of everything-was apparently temperamental. He banged on it a couple of times, despite Nite Owl’s disapproving looks, then gave up.

“I’m sorry buddy, I’m still working out all the kinks with Archie.”

Okay, besides the concern about, well, the fact he had a highly powerful jet with _rockets_ , fucking **rockets** for Christ sakes, and here were a few other worries:

1\. He’d nicknamed it Archie. _Archie_.  
2\. He was still working out kinks. On a flying death machine.

…With them in it.

Rorschach noticed her stare, and her expression. “Perfectly safe.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Tends to get carried with gadgets.” He paused. “…He’s harmless.”

She just let the silence stretch and he eventually coughed, embarrassed, before retreating to the copilot’s seat. She just watched him go, and tried not to listen to the hum of the engine for any about-to-crash noises.

_Keep it together, Laurel Jane._

\---

The ride was smooth and uneventful, but that didn’t make her trust the machine any more than she could throw it. He parked it on a rooftop, and they unloaded. The rest of patrol was a breakneck blur, the light air in the airship gone. Their faces were grim and set, and they didn’t talk much. Nite Owl was pretty intent on his work, but she could tell that it was his partner that was really chomping at the bit, ready to set teeth into these slimeballs. He broke bones as easy as saying ‘hello’, with an air of grim satisfaction, and while Nite Owl frowned disapprovingly, she was surprised (and a little concerned) at that little flare of vicious approval she felt every time he twisted some sick fuck’s fingers.

Every time he did it though, she could see Nite Owl’s eyes flick over to her, some sort of nervous concern in the look, like he wanted to put a hand over her eyes like a scandalized mom did to a kid when the on-screen movie got a little too risqué. He started doing it enough times that she was seriously considering mouthing off at him about it, but she didn’t know the guy well enough to know how that would go over. She didn’t want to go back to patrol with aunty Nell if she could avoid it.

But, for all the finger-breaking, Inky just didn’t seem satisfied. They flew to their next destination, and instead of sitting he paced the length and breadth of the place, his fists clenching in obvious frustration. It was starting to give her secondhand jitters, and buy the time he’d completed his fifth circuit she finally spoke up.

“What’s eatin’ you?”

He stopped abruptly, looking so goddamn irritated she was afraid he’d snap at her. “Accomplishing nothing. Only catching the little fish, still haven’t found the leader. Netting nothing but the benefactors, not their suppliers.”

Some little part of her wants to say something snarky about the fish references, but this is not the time or place. There’s kids out there getting sold like cattle to some seriously fucked up people, and it’s obvious Inky here is wound up tighter than a steel spring about it. Even Nite Owl is concerned; he keeps shooting worried glances at the guy when Rorschach’s not looking. On his round back up towards the front of the ship, Nite Owl catches him when he’s in range, managing to put a comforting hand on his shoulder while still steering the ship. He gives it a squeeze, like he’s gentling a horse, and adds;

“We’ll get them buddy.” He says, gently.

“Every minute wasted is another child’s innocence taken.” He growls, a hitch in it that she’d hadn’t heard before. She suddenly has the uncomfortable feeling that he’s trying not to cry.

“I know,” Nite Owl’s voice is quiet and very soothing, it’s almost magical. “But we’re doing all that we can.”

He stays under the touch for a bit, accepting as much comfort as the words and contact can give, then eventually nods and steps away. He continues on his little orbit around the perimeter of the ship, though the pace is a little less frenetic. Of course, that’s when he realizes she’s there and that she’d seen everything, and his shoulders creep up to his ears and his back stiffens. Apparently he’s embarrassed that a near stranger had seen the intimate little moment.

Okay, that _has_ to go. If she’s gonna patrol with these two, she wants him to feel that it’s okay to express a little human emotion around her. Besides, she can’t stand the thought of the guy being emotionally constipated around her because he’s uncomfortable about expressing it, like he’s afraid she’ll mock him for it or something. It’s not healthy.

“You can have first dibs on his shifty, kiddy-fiddling fingers if I can have his kidneys.” She said, grinning wolfishly at him, and throwing a cheesy wink.

For a second, she’s not sure if humor will go over very well, but the moment breaks when he snorts out a reluctant laugh. He relaxes a good deal more, and behind him she sees Nite Owl throw her a deeply grateful smile. She smiles back, and they keep going on their course to rain justice and pain on the deserving.


	5. Chapter 5

At night, she still goes out in a costume she never volunteered to wear, but she has to say she doesn’t dread it as much anymore. It helps a whole lot to go out with Nite Owl and Rorschach, because when she’s with them she feels like she’s actually _doing_ something. Of course, she doesn’t kid herself. She’s no vigilante; she has no savior complex, and no sense for dramatics. Somehow, Nite Owl can get his cape to flare just _so_ , and Rorschach knows how to fade into the shadows and when to pop out of them to scare the bejeebus of people. Her modus operandi is more of the ‘wham, bam, thank you m’am’ variety, where she pops out and beats the guys until they can’t get up or aim a gun. She’s blunt and violent, not precise like Rorschach, or graceful like Nite Owl.

If she were a weapon, she’d be a baseball bat with a nail in it.

She may have her shortcomings, but hell if it doesn’t make her feel better to punch people. During the day she has to be a teenage icon, so that means shelving her real personality and pasting a thin veneer of wholesomeness over herself. Her nighttime costume may be borrowed, but the identity it gives her feels more real than the smiling girl in the toothpaste ads wearing pink skirts.

It’s only in the evening after auditions in her room that she felt like she was the most herself. At those times, she looked at these two girls like she was standing between two mirrors, both reflections lacking any real depth. It bothers her sometimes, because she may be close to her real self while wearing yellow spandex, it’s never _really_ her, because she still has to be a vigilante. Punching people is fun, but fuck, that’s not something she wants to be doing _all_ the time. Sometimes she wants to wear regular clothes and go out to a movie with a nice boy, go shopping without people staring at her, play high school soccer. Hell, go to high school period rather than being ‘homeschooled’ (a joke really, her mom was more interested in teaching her how to apply makeup than multiplication tables). She knows the cliché about high school being hell, but being isolated in an environment without kids her age to make friends with is just as bad.

“Fuck, I’m lonely.” she sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

Her bedroom ceiling doesn’t offer much in the way of a reply. She sighed again and rolled off to grab her suit.

\---

“Fuck!”

Huh, _that’s_ a first. He’s usually too much of a boy scout to swear.

“Language, Nite Owl.”

“Well excuse _me_ for being in pain.” He gasped, cradling his foot.

The back alleys of New York weren’t known for being the best places to walk. Mostly because of all the muggers, druggies, and even less savory characters lurking in them, but when you were a vigilante that wasn’t usually an issue. But heroes had ankles like anyone else, and the alleys are cluttered. Chasing down some guy who had the information you wanted but who knew the area better was difficult as it was without random tires lying everywhere. Luckily, she’d turned the corner and had gotten to go around it and Rorschach had reflexes like a cat, so he hadn’t gotten away. It had taken them a moment after catching and trying their quarry up to realize that Nite Owl had fallen behind though. She’d left Rorschach to the interrogation while she went back for him, finding him limping along, trying to catch up. She’d done her best, but it’s not like they kept a med kit handy. A length of rebar and tape had to do.

At least she had a basic idea of what to do, after the medical training from Nelly. He’d deemed it important, so she’d learned. It’s not that she’d had much of an objection to it though, she liked learning those kinds of things, and right now it was coming in handy even if Nite Owl hissed in pain as she wrapped the ankle. Rorschach hovered and offered ‘moral support’, although his bedside manners were atrocious. At least he could help support him as he limped back to the ship, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to help. She was nearly a head shorter than him and while Rorschach wasn’t much taller-maybe an inch or so-he _was_ stronger, and able to support some of his weight.

It took forever, but they nursed him over the uneven ground and through twisting alleyways, with Laurie running point, keeping a sharp eye out for any criminal that felt lucky tonight. Once in the ship, he sank gratefully into the pilot’s chair and immediately set a course. It was only halfway into the drive over that she realized that he wasn’t going to his usual drop-off point for her, and she could only guess that he was actually headed for home. She fidgeted anxiously in the back, and poured herself a cup of coffee to give her hands something to do. It was still temperamental, only giving out coffee when it felt like it. It spluttered grumpily at her but pissed out just enough for a cup.

She’d been patrolling with them for about a month, on and off, and he’d always dropped her off near her house before. She wasn’t sure if the reason that he hadn’t invited her back to base was because he wasn’t sure of her yet or he just neglected to ask her if she wanted to see it, or _what_ , and wasn’t sure if she should just let him keep going or…

Of course, they were there before she could say or do anything anyways, and she dithered in the back of the ship, trying to think of a way to bring it up. Nite Owl got up, groaning, and Rorschach had to help him across the floor again. Just before he went down the ramp though, he noticed her malingering around the coffee machine.

He smiled at her. “You coming?”

She grinned back and followed them both down the ramp.

It was a bitch to get the tape off, but it did come off enough that they could-very carefully-get his boot off. Nite Owl hissed in pain as they coaxed it off his foot, but once it was gone he sighed in relief. Again she helped bind it up, this time with an actual ankle support, not tape and rebar. Rorschach acted like a surgical nurse, producing what was needed on demand, obviously intimately familiar with the place. It was hard to focus exclusively on his ankle and not look around. He was kind of a mad scientist, so he was _bound_ to have really interesting stuff around, and just from a quick glance she could tell the place was enormous and packed with tools and wires and a display case with what looked like trophies in it, but she forced herself to calm the fuck down and treat her patient. Within moments Nite Owl had his foot propped up on a chair, a sack of frozen peas on it, sighing as a big horse pill of painkillers diffused through his system. She took the opportunity to quickly look around.

“Wow.” She said, awed. “Nice digs.”

Nite Owl laughed. “Thanks. Sorry I didn’t take you to come see it earlier, just didn’t think of it.”

“Eh, better late than never.” She wanders a little, looking over the locker. “What are these?”

“Spare suits, and a few experimental ones.”

“May I…?”

He nods, looking very proud of himself as she digs through exclaiming over them. There's quite the variety, like a wetsuit and a riot suit (complete with a mask for teargas). It’s all so unbelievably cheesy and completely useless really, but at the same time it’s so damn cool. It’s like being in the design lab of a spy movie, where the protagonist gets kitted out to wreak havoc. Her practical side is wondering if he’d ever actually have an occasion to use any of this, but the rest of her was too busy playing with the fluffiest damn thing she’d _ever_ seen.

“Oh my god, it’s _adorable._ ” She coos, playing with the cape. “And so _soft_. What’d you do, line it with baby seal fur?”

Nite Owl chuckles behind her. “Nah, it’s a new type of material. It’s used by mountain climbers, and will keep you warm in below zero conditions.”

“I believe it.” She wrapped herself in it, feeling like she was wearing something indulgent, like a mink coat or fox fur.

“I will hug it and love it and call it George.” She giggled.

Nite Owl bursts into laughter, and she grins at him under the folds. It’s meant to fit him, so she’s practically swimming in it, just her glittering eyes peering out at Rorschach as he approaches her, his head cocked like a curious puppy.

“Hnn, haven’t seen this one before.” He looks it over. “New?”

“I’m not quite finished with it, actually. I was going to show you when it’s done.”

He examines it too, intrigued. “Made it?”

“God no, are you kidding? You know I’m terrible at sewing. I had to have it commissioned.”

“Hnn, didn’t ask me to help.” He grumped, fiddling with the seams, examining them with a critical eye.

She looked at him, curious. “You sew?”

“Had to learn.” He said, still looking it over. “Made my own uniform. Helped Nite Owl with his.”

“Really?” She looked over at him.

Nite Owl coughed, looking embarrassed. “Yeah, uh…my first design was, err, less than stunning.”

She grinned, turning to Rorschach. “Please tell me there’s pictures.”

She could _just_ see the corner of his mouth twitch under the mask. She counted it a personal victory whenever she got the dour bastard to laugh.

“God, no. I thank providence that I didn’t get caught wearing that thing by any journalists.”

Rorschach let the cape be, apparently judging that it was up to snuff. “The mental picture is more than enough embarrassment.”

She giggled. “Aww, but I was looking forward to seeing it.”

Another twitch, and she grinned. He was such a serious guy, and she could see it was part of his personality, but she he could stand to smile more. He got so concerned over his latest case it wound him tight like a spring, and even if she couldn’t see his face she could bet he had deep lines on his forehead from where he furrowed his brow all the time.

“So, since Nite Owl’s down for the count, could you give me the ten-cent tour?”

Rorschach looked towards his partner, who nodded graciously, and they were off. She kept the cloak on as he showed her around because it was chilly in the basement and her hooker getup wasn’t that warm. It seemed to amuse him, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he showed her around the place. There was a workshop with a welding area, astonishingly neat and organized, which was way different from the ‘organized chaos’ of Hollis’ workplace. He even had an eyewash station and a shower for hosing down, which Nite Owl had to add that it came in useful for when they’d had to skulk down the storm drainage system, getting doused with everything that had washed off the pavement of New York in the last few days. She grimaced, and hoped she’d never have to do that. It would be even worse for her than them, she had a lot fewer layers between her and stormwater.

She got to poke around in the trophy case, and of course it was cheesy, but it was nice to get to look at them. I reminded her of Hollis’ scrapbook, only this had more than just clippings. There was the underboss’ cane, various medals, and a _actual_ trophy of appreciation from the city. Nite Owl was more than happy to tell her the story of how he’d gotten them, but that was for another time.

The tour concluded with a visit to the mini gym. It was kitted out with a punching bag and weights, the floor covered with a nice mat. She gave the leather bag a pat, remarking he must get a lot of use out of it.

“You’re a real Mohammed Ali out there in the alleys.” She spun it around. “You ever go professional?”

“Wanted to.” He admitted. “No interest in my weight class.”

“Their loss. You would’ve been quite the show.”

“Skills put to better use on the streets.” He growled, balling his fists meaningfully.

She smiled at him. “Oh, definitely. And it’s still a pretty awesome show, you should give me some tips.”

“Hnn, my style wouldn’t suit you. Requires more upper-body strength.” He looked her over. “Still…could think of a few things.”

She grinned at him. “I’d like that, thanks.”

Of course, that didn’t mean _now_ because it was getting damned late, and they were both tired from patrol. Well, she was. Rorschach was bullheaded enough to push through any level of exhaustion, but he didn’t press it. They wandered on back to Nite Owl, who was gingerly examining his ankle.

“I think I’ll be okay after a few days. It just feels sprained, not broken.”

“Hnn, good. Quicker you heal, quicker you can patrol.”

Man, no bedside manners. No ‘get well soon’ or ‘hope you feel better’, nope. His bedside manners are almost as bad as her mom’s (“sweetie, if you ain’t dyin’, you ain’t getting out of work!”) Nite Owl, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll be up soon buddy, don’t you worry.” He said soothingly, and she blinks, feeling like she missed something.

He just makes one of those non-word sound again, and nods. “Have to be going. See you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing man.”

He looks over at her. “Can get home from here?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine taking the subway.”

With a last flip of his trench, he’s gone down to tunnel, merging into the black like he’s been swallowed. He’s got a knack for it, one that she wishes she could do, but it’s damn impossible in a bright yellow costume. Now it’s just the two of them, and she figures she should leave too, but Nite Owl waves her to a seat.

“He worries.”

“He _does_? He’s got a funny way of expressin’ it.” She winces inwardly, realizing how that sounds.

“Yeah, he does.” He sighs, and gives her a wry smile. “Sure you’ve noticed.”

“Well…yeah. I mean, he calls me ‘Laurel’ instead of Laurie.”

“Try not to take it too personal. He means well, and he _does_ care, even if he doesn’t show in the regular way.” He said, then added “I uh, actually wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

“Shoot.”

“Well, I know we’ve only been working side by side for a month, but I’m pretty sure you won’t go running to the presses.” He grinned at her again, then carefully pulled off the cowl, revealing his actual face. He squinted at her myopically, so he probably missed her smile.

“Why, Mr. Dreiberg you're ravishing.” And he is, actually. Good bone structure and a round, affable face. His hair is damp with sweat, and the fluorescents down here aren’t all that good, but she’s pretty sure she was right about the hair being brown. His eyes are too, warm and lively, and they crinkle as he smiles back almost shyly. He even lets her flick an errant strand of hair back, teasing him about having bangs.

“My name’s Daniel. Daniel Dreiberg.” He says, and thrusts out his hand.

She shakes it with exaggerated formality, grinning. “Nice to meet you, Daniel. May I call you Dan?”

Dan laughed. “You call me whatever you like, so long as you help me up the stairs.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Sooooo…just you and me, huh?”

He grunts, a vaguely affirmative sound.

“Are you just gonna caveman it up all night, or can you actually speak?”

He snorts, and then finally deigns to speak to her. “Think you’ll speak enough for the both of us.”

“Ahhh, so it _can_ talk.” She grins at him. “So, pardner, who we gonna round up tonight?”

He thinks for a moment. “The usual bait fish, I think. One of them is bound to know our target, and it’ll help us reel in our prize.”

She gives him an amused look. “You know, for a guy who’s only ever seen fishing on tv, you use a lot of fish metaphors.”

“I am a fisher of men.” He intoned dramatically, smiling, and then shrugged. “Nite Owl made the joke first. Just a running gag now.”

He stops for a moment to take another huge bite of lasagna, and she waits patiently as the man stuffs his face with food before they head out. Dan usually leaves out some kind of leftovers for them both, and Rorschach takes full advantage. Now that he’s more comfortable around her he flips the mask up to the bridge of his nose to eat and drink, though he still hasn’t taken it off. She supposes he wouldn’t do that anytime soon, seeing as how he hasn’t revealed his face to Dan yet either. She hopes he might someday, though she hasn’t pressed it.

As he eats she mulls over her dinner companion, who always inhales food like it’ll be his last. They work pretty well together even though Dan is temporarily out of commission. Rory is funny, as in peculiar. He’s got the morals of a Baptist preacher, moves like Mohamed Ali, and he dresses like Humphrey Bogart. Despite his puritanical views and outdated fashion, they get along okay. He used to have some pretty dim views on women-Dan had told her about them-but he seems to have dialed it back, now that he actually knows one. He seems to do that, after getting to know someone and finding the stereotypes aren’t true. Dan had said he’d believed in the Zionist conspiracy before Dan had told him he was Jewish (though not practicing). He read the New Frontiersman which is where he got most of his ideas, though he seemed to be reading it less as time went on. Maybe getting to know people other than WASP’S* has changed his outlook on life.

They’ve settled in as time went on, and if she had to quantify their relationship, it would be something of an irritating kid sister and longsuffering older brother. They snipe and argue, but it’s all in jest. Dan is kinda the ‘mom’-though she’d never say it to his face-as he cooks and cleans and even washes Rorschach’s uniform sometimes. To be fair, it’s not like he can just wash it at the local Laundromat, but still. Plus, he’s a sweetheart that fusses over them, especially Rorschach. He’s always trying to feed him or offering the guest room to sleep in. She doesn’t get why he does it, because it’s not like Rorschach _needs_ a lot of care. The dude reminds her of an alley cat, lean and fierce and very independent.

She’s brought out of her introspection by him finishing off his fourth-fourth!-plate, licking it like no one had ever taught him better, and tossing it into the sink. “Dude, at least wash it.”

Rorschach cocks his head at her. “Dan will wash it.”

“Yeah, but that’s not fair that he always washes your dishes. ” She said, frowning. God, hadn’t he ever heard of the whole ‘you cook, I’ll clean’ rule?

He muttered something, sounding embarrassed, but he did wash it. He does things like that, like leaving dirty dishes, empty soup cans on the counter, and rings on Dan’s nice coffee table because he can’t be assed to use a coaster. He’s either inconsiderate, or unaware. She hopes it’s the latter. Dan doesn’t complain, although she’s slowly beginning to think that maybe it does bother him but he just isn’t the confrontational type. She saves him the effort, but it still kinda weird to remind a guy a couple years her senior to act like an adult.

_Speak of the devil._ Dan came thumping down the stairs, his bad foot on each step sounding like a peg leg. It wasn’t too bad-he’d just twisted it-but it hampered him a little, made him clumsy.

Rorschach didn’t even turn. “Need to be resting Daniel.”

“Well, I mean-wait, are you doing dishes?” Dan peered at him, looking confused.

The terror of the underworld paused, soap suds on his hands. “Yes.”

Dan blinked. “…Oh. Uh, thanks.”

Rorschach made a noncommittal noise, and Dan just stood there dumbly for a moment, because apparently he’d come all this way to wash up his partner's usual mess and now didn’t know what to do with himself. Laurie decided to take pity on him. “Have a seat Dan.”

He sat, looking bewildered. Rorschach shoved a piece of lasagna in front of him, and frowned at him. “Eat. Need food to heal. And prop foot up or ankle will swell.”

The order was snapped out in an almost belligerent tone. At first glance, it was almost like he was berating Dan for being injured, but there was just a subtle hint of something a bit more complex in the way Rorschach hovered, his stance almost threatening but not _quite_. She wasn’t quite sure, but it almost looked like the guy was fussing over Dan, and the gruffness was a put-on.

He turned, and caught her looking. Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he glowered at her. “Will meet you in nest once you’re done.”

And then he clattered down the stairs in a huff, and she had to try hard not to laugh.

“Aww, he really is just a big softy.” She said once he was out of earshot.

Dan chuckled, and she plucked up his piece to nuke it. Rorschach had no regard for whether his food was cold or warm, and no concept that other people hated cold lasagna. She scarfed the last of her own while it warmed, and slugged down a glass of milk after it. She washed up too, because unlike _some_ people, she cleaned up after herself, then plunked down his steaming lasagna in front of him.

“Thanks.” He almost started in, then looked up at her, smiling. “You be careful out there, okay?”

He was trying to turn it into a joke, but there was real worry in there. She was a big girl and pretty damn competent, but Dan worried about her. It was sometimes annoying because she knew it was partly because he still had some of that ingrained ‘must protect the weaker sex’ kind of attitude. Sometimes she was still ‘the kid mascot’, and she’d had to angrily yell at him to fuckin’ lay off, she could punch thugs with her own damn fists, thank you very much.

Mostly, though, because he honestly cared for her and that was…kind of scary, in a way, to have someone new care about her so much. For so much of her life, the only people who had been constant in it had been her mother and Hollis. Other players had come and gone in her life (producers, fellow actors) but once the ad was taped or photo shoot was done, they left. She’d never had a close friend before, and now she had Dan. Rorschach too, but he didn’t feel... _close_ , not like Dan. He kept a careful distance between himself and the two of them. Dan, on the other hand, was someone she could feel comfortable just hanging out with, despite their age difference.

Looking down at Dan’s earnest face, she suddenly had the urge to keep this guy as long as she possibly could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *White Anglo-Saxon Protestant.


	7. Chapter 7

Working days and patrolling nights was starting to take its toll on the poor kid. Sal had to practically use a crowbar to get her out of bed, and she’d often catnap on the way over to photoshoots. Normally, she’d let her be and let the kid rest as much as she could-after doing it herself back in the day, she could sympathize-but today was a special occasion.

“C’mon sweetie, I know you're tired but this guy is an opportunity not to be missed.”

She yawned and stretched. “Mom, you say that about _every_ producer.”

“Because they are, but they’re not quite as important as Kevin Good.” She said airily, opening the shades.

Laurie squinted in the bright light. “Wait, the guy that’s directed a buncha horror films?”

“The very same.” She said happily.

“Okay, and I’m only just hearing about this now because…?”

“Because he called late last night while you were out gallivanting with the wonder twins.”

“Christ.” She murmured. “I feel so underprepared.”

“It’s alright, I already called in Emmy to do your looks.” She said soothingly. “Just put this on. I’ll have a bowl of oatmeal ready for you downstairs.”

She tossed an outfit at her, and Laurie started to get in it, still only half awake. To her credit though, she was down the stairs eating her bowl of oatmeal in less than ten minutes. She’d made it good and thick, with peanut butter and brown sugar, just like the kid liked. A real meal that stuck to your ribs, not the ‘single leaf of lettuce’ Sal had to suffer through in her modeling days. Fat tended to stick to her, but Laurie was lucky to be blessed with a high metabolism and a hobby that burned more calories than CrossFit. Vigilantism was saving them a small fortune in personal trainers.

Presently, a knock sounded. Sal opened the door to their makeup and hairstylist, Emeril, or as he was known, ‘Emmy’.

“I brought coffee.” He said.

“Bless you.” She cooed, and blew him an air kiss. He grinned, and sashayed in. Emmy was a drag queen these days, but when he wasn’t making outrageous costumes he could be counted on to do some very nice makeup and hair for Laurie. It was a pity he wasn’t around more, but the fellow was retired from the makeup business and spending his well-earned time out of the race enjoying Europe with his lovely boyfriend.

“How’s it going baby doll?” He said, setting his huge makeup tote on the counter. It was an enormous steel thing that looked like it should hold power tools rather than neat row upon row of mascara and eyeshadow in every color you could think of.

Laurie yawned enormously, and he smiled wryly. “That bad, huh?”

“I was out ‘till four.” She said, taking the offered cup of coffee with gratitude. “I feel like warmed over death.”

“Poor thing. Well, you’ll look drop-dead gorgeous when I’m done with you.” He said, and Sal laughed behind him

It was but the work of a moment to get her makeup done. “It helps that you’re naturally pretty.” He cooed. “That skin cleansing routine seems to be doing its job.”

“Yeah, I still get the occasional pimple, but I don’t look like a dang pizza like some people.”

“Ahh, the wonders of puberty.” He chuckled. “Your hair has just a few split ends here…”

A quick trim and a run through the straightener, and her hair was a sleek curtain. He also spritzed it down with a little oil, and ran it through. At the end of it all, she was fresh-faced cute little thing with gleaming, perfect hair.

“90% real ingredients, 10% filler.” He quipped behind Laurie, his smiling face next to hers in the mirror.

Sally snorted. “That’ll start to change when you reach thirty.”

He laughed. “Sal, don’t you go complaining. You’ve held up better than girls half your age.”

Sal preened, and wished the man was straight. Ahh well, all the good men were either gay or taken. Or in the case of Hollis they were…well.

_The disappointed look he’d given her when she voted Silhouette out would stick with her for the rest of her life, guilt-tripping her for her very small, round-about part in her eventual death._

Now was not the time or place to think about their respective pasts, and the pointed distance he kept from her though.

“Ready sweetie?”

Laurie grins, and she looks both cute and dangerous, and Sally can’t help but love her fierce fighter of a daughter in spite of the spats they had sometimes.

“You know you’ll drop ‘em dead.” Emmy says, and blows them both air kisses. “I’ll see you two for a late lunch?”

“Count on it.” Sal says, and herds her daughter out the door.

\---

Laurie drummed her fingers on her knees, nervous. The producer seemed to like her though, addressing her directly rather than chatting with her mother like she wasn’t even there like most people. He also seemed like a nice guy, smiling encouragingly at her as she went over the sample of dialogue in front of her.

“Good, good.” He says happily. “I like your rhythm, but try a little breathier? Our character’s got a touch of asthma, and this is a stressful scene.”

She nods, obedient, and tries again. Near as she can tell, her role as Cassy is one of a couple of young girls walking back late at night. This guy is known for writing blood-n-guts horror films, so she can guess it doesn’t end well. She tries to channel the anxiety of some girls she’s met late on patrols, their eyes tracking all over the place, full of fear for what might be hiding in the alleys or behind corners. She doesn’t refuse their entreaties to be walked home, though she always notices that they only ever ask _her_ , even if she’s accompanied by her much more competent male colleges. It saddens her, in a way, that there’s so many girls afraid of getting raped or killed by some random guy that they can’t trust a male vigilante. Still, her experience gives her just that little touch of realism to the performance, and by the end of it the guy is delighted.

“Perfect!” He crows. “I think we’ve got our Cassy.”

Behind him, her mom beams at her and gives her a thumbs up. After that, it’s just paperwork, and since she’s still a minor her mother takes care of it for her. And she’ll probably still keep taking care of it even after she turns seventeen tomorrow, hell, probably until after she turns 40 if her mom can get away with it. She loves her mom, but she can’t ever imagine her letting go of the reigns.

Christ, her birthday. She’d damn near forgot; she had no idea if she’d actually get to do something for it, she was booked for a photoshoot that day, and between this and the vigilantism and the…

God, she was busier than any teenager had a right to be.

She sighed in relief once she was safely in the car, and just drifted. She must’ve slept, because her mom was gently shaking her shoulder, and she stumbled up the stairs. It took effort to wipe off all the damn makeup, and her mom must have been feeling merciful because she just tucked her in bed with a goodnight kiss like when she was much younger.

“You did good kid. Sleep tight.”


	8. Chapter 8

“God damn it!”

“Language, Daniel.”

Dan poked his head out from under the ship and glared at him. “I’m an adult, I can swear when I want too!”

Rorschach snorted, thoroughly amused. “Best not to lose your temper when working on a delicate machine.”

Dan snarled irritably, and made some loud banging noises under the ship. Usually the man had the patience of a saint, but Archie had been giving him more trouble than all the gangs in New York combined. The integrated coffee machine had started leaking (into the walls of the ship, mind you) and it had wreaked absolute havoc. He was currently following a stained, coffee-scented trail through the ship, testing circuits to see which ones had been damaged and needed to be replaced. Thankfully, he was pretty anal when it came to proper insulation, so most of it had been protected from the kind of destruction a boiling, caffeinated beverage could do.

“Coffee machine has given you more trouble than the rest of the ship combined over the entire course of building it.” Rorschach idly observed. “Should just uninstall it.”

“No.” Dan growled stubbornly. “I wanted a freaking coffee machine, I will HAVE a coffee machine!”

Rorschach let him be. Daniel was usually fairly tractable, but this was a personal point of pride for him. He seemed bound and determined to make sure his flying machine was not only equipped with every offensive weapon that was legal-and some that weren’t-but every human comfort possible. He already had heated seats, cup holders on every arm of said seats, and stashes of food if you knew where to look. Dan seemed to put effort in hiding them, more like a squirrel than his avian namesake when it came to food. From the looks of his family photos, Dan had indeed been a very…chubby (to put it politely) looking kid growing up. Despite all the muscle he had today, he did still have a sort of broad, rounded look to him. He looked more like Greek sculpture than bodybuilder, the kind of body that would gain pounds fast as soon as he stopped his high-energy lifestyle. His love affair with food would help with that too; he’d seen him sneak from his stashes innumerable times, it’s why he knew where all of them were. He stole from them too, but he didn’t have the problem with fat like Dan did.

He looked down at himself, and knew that under all these layers was a wiry, lean body. While he did have muscles, he didn’t have the broad frame like Daniel. He wasn’t jealous-his body served its purpose well enough-but it had stung as a teenage boy that he’d never be a boxing star because no one had an interest in his weight class. His skills have been put to a better use since then though, and he’d like to think his boxing coach would be proud of how he used the specialty right hook that he’d taught him.

Also, unlike Daniel his metabolism was fast. He burned through food and never gained a pound, and in fact had difficulty gaining weight. As a child it had worried the social workers enough that they’d given him a special nutrition regimen, extra portions, and nutrition shakes that tasted like chocolate milk that someone had dumped chalk into. He still had trouble eating enough, and back when they’d just became partners it was a godsend finding the man liked to cook, and would share freely. His partner was a fat kid at heart so it was usually something smothered in gravy, or cheese, or both. Just the thing to fuel a vigilante that ate like a horse.

Shrugging off his trench, he had to wonder if part of it was burned making all this excess heat. His temperature always ran just slightly higher than normal, something of an advantage in the winter but a hassle in the oncoming heat of summer. It was something of a cosmic joke that he was a redhead, and had both the temperament-and temperature-to match.

Dan gives him a knowing look. “I’ve got some lemonade in the fridge.”

He waved him off. While he appreciated the thoughtfulness, he can’t take him up on it because lately he’s been a bit too close. He knows he walks something of a narrow line with Daniel, his affable nature difficult to ward off. He had a carefully constructed formal partnership with him, where it almost tips into friendship but not quite. Occasionally he has to turn down things, like offers of staying in the guest room or food or even lemonade, or he might start to creep over that line drawn in the sand. He knows his partner does his best to respect his boundaries, but he can tell it’s difficult for the man to restrain himself and if he gives him an inch he’ll take a mile. It helps that he’s naturally reticent though, and he’s usually deferential to his requests.

Laurie, on the other hand…

He sighs under his breath. She’s brash and fearless, which is part of why he’s fond of her, but it’s also frustrating. She’s yet to outright demand what’s under the mask, but she’s already far too familiar with him than he’d like. Either his subtle attempts at establishing boundaries goes right over her head or she doesn’t care, or…he hasn’t tried hard enough, which is honestly the most likely option. Her youth and exuberance is disarming in a special, insidious way that makes it so much more difficult to keep her at an arm’s length like it is with Daniel. He has his own, special connection with his partner, but Laurel is different in that he feels sort of…well, like an older sibling he supposed. The age difference between the two of them fills him with the urge to protect, to mentor, and a similar sort of fondness that he’d had towards the younger kids in Charlton. He’d even started to give her boxing tips like he’d done for Bobby, the little five-year-old that had idolized him in the home, regarding him as the older brother he’d never had. Granted, she was quite a bit older and more competent-and reminded him at every turn-but he couldn’t help but feel a familiar warm glow of almost-familial affection towards her when she perfectly executed the moves he just taught her.

It also, shamefully, made him less guarded.

For instance, take today. Today he was currently warring with himself as to whether or not he should give her the book he’d found in the bargain bin on ‘Introduction to the Veterinary Sciences’ that he was currently hiding in his trench. It’s big. And heavy. Just as heavy as the trepidation he felt about the gift, in fact. It has so many implications behind it too, things that he wasn’t sure was safe to reveal. It might be taken as an invitation to get closer and he didn’t know that he could let her get-

“Crap!” Dan hisses behind him, scrambling out from under the ship. “I forgot! It’s her birthday, isn’t it?”

…Then again, maybe he didn’t have to give it to her

Rorschach helped him up, and watched with an amused air as he bustled around looking-in vain-for something suitable for a 17-year-old girl in a bachelor's mechanic shop.

“Goddamnit.” He muttered. “There isn’t even any time to bake a cake just what the hell am I gonna do? I’m going to feel like such a heel.”

“Daniel.”

“And you’d think I’d have at least remembered her-“

“ _Daniel_.”

He looked up from a box of small clockwork projects. “Yeah, buddy?”

“Picked up a book recently.” Rorschach drew out a thick volume. “Might work.”

Dan grabbed it, and nearly dropped it. “Jesus, that’s heavy. What, is this a textbook? Looks like it.”

Rorschach munched on a stray sugar cube. “In discarded bin. Looked like might be worth something in resale value.”

“ ‘Introduction to Veterinary Sciences’?” Dan stared at it. “Uhh, no offense, but it doesn’t exactly sound riveting.”

“She expressed an interest in being a vet once.”

Dan suddenly felt a sneaking suspicion and lowered the book to look at his partner, doing his best to keep the suspicion off his face. “Really?”

Either he had given himself away, or Rorschach was feeling guilty-it was hard to tell with him, no matter how long he’d known him-but he shifted in a characteristic subtle way that Dan had learned that he was feeling self-conscience. Like when he’d eaten the entire bowl of Dan’s peppermint candies, he had that slight hunch to his shoulders that was as much of a tell as a perp looking down to side when they lied. People were used to reading other people’s faces for cues but when you took a sub-major in ornithology you learned to pay special attention to body language to avoid a sharp bill to the eye, plus he had a natural knack for it. He’d managed to get some decent money playing poker actually, but that was neither here nor there.

Still keeping the suspicion off his face Dan just let him be. If the man wanted to give Laurie a gift in a very roundabout way, Dan wasn’t about to say no. He and Laurie had a bizarre relationship going on; Rorschach struggling to keep her at a set distance and totally failing at it. It didn’t help that she took more liberties with his partner than Dan ever dared. Hugging the guy after a successful bust was just something that wasn’t _done_ but just the thing a cute sixteen-now seventeen-girl could get away with. And while Rorschach did stiffen up in surprise, he didn’t shove her off either. It was like he just didn’t have the heart to enforce his strict laws of propriety with her like he did with Dan, and it was both hilarious and adorable to watch the terror of the underworld grudgingly express his affection for her like a serious older brother for his high-spirited kid sister.

Dan couldn’t really blame him. Laurie was fun to be around, and after he’d let her see his face and know his name they’d even started to hang out outside of costume. To be fair, they didn’t have much in common-there was about seven years between them-but they managed to get along okay, chatting about whatever while Dan worked on his various projects. She was a wonderful shop assistant too because she’d grown up around Hollis and had helped him numerous times with cars, so she knew what needle nose pliers were and what they could be used for. They’d even gone to Coney island a few times too, because a grown man going by himself is weird, but a grown man taking his ‘younger sister’ to the island is okay.

(At least, he’d _hoped_ other people thought he was her older brother, not a sex offender)

Dan didn’t have that many people to hang out with outside the costume other than Laurie and Hollis. Most of his college friends had moved or were so busy that it was difficult to keep in touch. Laurie may be a few years younger, but she’s closer in age than Hollis. He loves the guy, but you can’t exactly invite him to go to a rock concert. Dan may have his old favorites, but Pale Horse doesn’t sound like it’d be half bad; according to Laurie at least. Besides, even if he doesn’t much like the music, it’d be great to get out of the house and do something fun for a change. Lately, the only time he left the house was for patrol, and that was getting old.

Dan wrapped the book in a newspaper while he thought about it, and had just finished when he heard the clicking of her heels coming down the tunnel.


End file.
